


Intentional nude photos

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Nude Photos, Sexting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: Orochimaru is working at his bedroom office when his phone beeps. Jiraiya sent five very intentional nude pictures. They start at his clavicle and slowly make their way down until the fifth one is his (very hard) dick. The images arouse Orochimaru greatly, but his phone dies. While he waits for the stupid device to charge, he angrily masturbates. #modern AU





	Intentional nude photos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monophobian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monophobian/gifts).



> Written for Monophobian on AO3, who blessed me with a fantastic OroJira fic a few days ago and who makes me laugh often. I didn’t want to write a fic at all, but it wrote itself.

 

When Orochimaru hears the sound of his phone, he smiles. The beeping is a specific tone set to Jiraiya’s messages. 

He leaves the phone for a minute, and he likes the anticipation. He likes the thought of his own unavailability. He likes this window of time where he is about to get attention from Jiraiya. It’s indulging. It makes him feel special. It makes him feel like he’s in control and as if he _only_ answers in his own time.

The truth is, that his mind fails to focus on the stock exchange rates of the European market that flicker on the laptop screen. His mind is focused only on the anticipation of Him.

He takes the phone, unlocks it with a 20-digit pin code and a swipe. _Five messages? Five?_ He wonders if something is up, and then he sees the collarbone. Now he knows what’s up. 

He opens his mouth, sucks in breath -- the equivalent of a wordless scream. 

He swipes.

His own lips begin to curl. The heat bursts through his cold skin, Orochimaru’s switch being flipped. His body knows what’s up.

Swipe 3, and 4, and there is something in his pants that is up now too. He stands, and paces through the room. He walks forth and back, swiping images 1 to 4 until he has seen them many times. He swipes back until his hips are hot and his balls tingle. He grins like a villain. He looks at the screen, sees his own reflection, sees his own eyes sparkle because he has the fifth photo left to view. 

_It’s disgusting how happy he makes me._

He swiped. Picture five. He half-expected a picture of a raised middle finger. It turned out to be much, much better. The thing on the picture is raised indeed. What a sight. 

Orochimaru is a visual person. “Fu fu fu...” This image is so good, Orochimaru would dare call it artistic nude, regardless of it being drenched into sexual intent. Sexually artistic, then? Leave it to Jiraiya to turn sex into an art form. 

Writing was an art. Graphic images was an art. ‘Dancing’ was an art. And Jiraiya had mastered an instrument for ‘music’ too, just look at how he was playing Orochimaru. 

He held the phone in his now trembling hands. 

[text] Where are you

[text] Where are you??

[text] I’ll come to you. 

No answer in the first four seconds. 

He tried calling. He cut it off immediate at the first waiting tone beep, hung up to look at the picture again.  No messages. 

 He tried calling again. Meanwhile, he put on his brogues (not heels because might be running later), and he moved so rushed that he stumbled. He caught himself. He threw a scarf around his shoulders. He moved rushed. He put bottles of lubricant in his pocket, left and right. Car key? Check. House key? Nevermind that, it’s unlikely he will spend the night at home. He will just pull the front door behind him when he leaves. But first...

“Pick up the sstupid phone.”

He looked at the phone screen just as there was a beep. Jiraiya’s tune. A message back! His heart surged, his cock grew hot. 

He clicked to open it. The phone displayed the loading gear wheel then flashed to black. Out of battery. 

Orochimaru throw the phone on the bed as hard as he could. 

It bounced, lay on the duvet. He could _howl_ in rage, but stayed perfectly quiet. This was the greatest injustice in the world. This was awful. He dove after the phone, dashed for the charger on the other side of the room. He could not put the charger end into the phone because his hands shook so much. He tried again, again, and at what felt like the one hundred try, it worked. 

The phone beeped with a battery-loading symbol on screen. 

He put it on the desk. He raised himself up. He was so tense. He brushed his hands over his face, through his hair, and he exhaled. He hated this. He brushed his hands over his turtleneck shirt. He yanked off the scarf, threw it on the floor. He leaned his behind against the desk. It would take five minutes for the phone to charge sufficiently to be switched on again. These were five minutes of utter hell. 

He furiously masturbated. 

Too soon he reached the orgasm, and he was panting and trembling. He caught most of his load in his left hand, planned to grab a paper tissue later. The phone wasn’t charged yet. He gave it a glare. He smeared his own semen all over his cock, and began again, cursing now, squinting at the phone. 

His fists moved fast over the shaft as the phone turned itself on. The logo was slow, the loading screen was slow, but the same anticipation as before - of getting attention from Jiraiya- built up in his throat. It built up in his hips, too. Orochimaru hoped on five new messages and three missed calls. 

He regretted his long 20-digit pin code and swipe, he was in a hurry. He got the code wrong first try. His stained finger smeared damp semen over the screen. This was not his finest moment, but he knew his priority.

Jiraiya sent this:

That eyes emoji was the only message. Orochimaru stared at the screen, unable to believe it. He whipped his head to the window so fast that his hair hit his neck with a delay. He turned around from the desk, cock in hand. “Where are you.”

He looked at the door -- closed door. He looked at the bare walls. He looked at the items in his bedroom. Was a camera hidden in the spine of a book, in a porcelain toad statue? His own laptop? Multiple? No idea. Such luck that Orochimaru just happened to be dating the modern real-life equivalent of James Bond. 

“Where are you watching from, Jiraiya!” 

And then the needy desperation sank in, making his exhale a long whine. Didn’t he see how needy Orochimaru was? This was the worst. It was sexy, but the worst. 

He leaned wide-legged against the desk again. “Is this a good angle?”

Silence. Could Jiraiya even hear him? 

The phone beeped with a text from Jiraiya:  _thumbs-up emoji._

Orochimaru smirked. He lift the hem of his shirt, exposing his stomach. “I’ll need photos of you, firssst.” He bit into the hem of the shirt. He ran his wet hand over his stomach, leaving a smear that lead to his hips. Take this.

This game could be played by two. 

“Fu fu fu...”

His phone beeped:  _Incoming video call..._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
